


Don't Wanna Let You Down, But I am Hellbound

by aprofessorbhaer



Series: Demons (Markiplier Egos & Reader/OC) [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bigotry & Prejudice, Chronic Illness, Coming Out, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Drama, Family Issues, Feels, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Googleplier - Freeform, Insecurity, Insomnia, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Neurodiversity, Original Character(s), Parent-Child Relationship, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Insert, Swearing, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprofessorbhaer/pseuds/aprofessorbhaer
Summary: Googleplier asks the reader/oc why they seem distant. Turns out, the main character has a history with people not being able to handle them at their worst.





	Don't Wanna Let You Down, But I am Hellbound

“Human, I am curious about something.”

I looked up from the work on my desk, spotting Google standing in my doorway, wearing his trademark blue t-shirt with a glowing white G in the center. I smiled softly. “I’m not surprised you are, though I’d expect your internet access would be able to tell you about most things. Of course, I’ll answer any questions for you I can.” 

Google tilted his head slightly. “I appreciate your alacrity, though I don’t understand it. My primary objective is to answer questions as quickly as possible, and secondary objective is to destroy mankind. Why would a human be willing to answer my questions, if I am meant to both answer questions and bring about the end of humanity?”

I shrugged. “You can’t help what your programming is, Google, any more than I can help what my genetics are. Besides, you obviously have some autonomy because I haven’t seen you harm any humans yet.” I waved a hand dismissively. “But enough about that. Regardless of my reasons, I am here to indulge your curiosity as much as I can.”

Google nodded. “Thank you. I believe you will most helpful on this topic because it concerns you. It seemed prudent to come to you first before I tried any other avenues.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, that makes sense, I guess.”

“Yes, I am very logical. Here is my question: why do you maintain distance between yourself and those around you?”

I turned back to my desk to avoid looking at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your actions suggest that statement is untrue. Are you refusing to answer my question?”

I shook my head. “No. I just didn’t realize…anyone would notice.”

“It is quite possible none of your other acquaintances have. However, I possess statistical and pattern-finding abilities that they do not. Here is what I have observed: you rarely seek out the company of others; you do not volunteer information about yourself, though you do share when prompted; you tend to remain in areas designated to be your own, such as your bedroom, unless specifically invited to be somewhere else. My findings suggest that you do not believe yourself to belong here, and/or you do not feel welcome. Have any of us done something to indicate we do not desire your presence?”

I raised my head to see Google had stepped further into my room, his brow furrowed behind his glasses. “No, of course not. Neither you, nor Mark, nor anyone else has implied that you don’t want me here. But…that doesn’t mean it will never be true. I’m just trying to put it off for as long as possible.”

“You believe we will eventually tire of you being here?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice casual. “Yeah, that’s how it works. You know me long enough, spend enough time with me, and you won’t want me around anymore.”

Google folded his arms across his broad chest. “That seems very unlikely to me. Have you experienced that before?”

I looked down at my hands, which were clasped tightly together in my lap. I didn’t even remember doing that. “Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I have.”

“I am sorry.” I looked up to see Google chagrined. “It seems that I have raised a topic that distresses you. I did not mean to upset you.”

I tried to smile. “It’s fine, Google. I think you deserve to know.” I took a deep breath to steady myself. “The last time I lived with other people was when I was staying at my parents’ place. I left them because I wanted to stop burdening them. After that, I lived on my own until Mark asked me to be his roommate. I tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good idea, but he insisted.” I paused, not sure how to continue.

“Human…why do you believe you were a burden on your parents?”

I couldn’t look at Google when I answered. “I wasn’t pulling my weight around the house. I didn’t do enough chores, I wasn’t productive, I didn’t contribute any money. I overslept but I was always tired, I had low energy except when I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t shower often enough. I could barely feed myself, and I ate very little. I was always supposed to be doing more: I should get up at a reasonable hour, I should eat three square meals, I should exercise daily, I should go outside, I should spend less time on the internet, I should learn how to cook, I should clean up after myself better, I should help with laundry without being asked, I should…be better. I wasn’t good enough.” My eyes burned with tears trying to fall, but I didn’t want to manipulate Google like that.

“Based on the details you have told me, I would guess that you may suffer from depression, or possibly chronic fatigue syndrome. Have you been diagnosed with any mental illness?”

I smiled through my tears. “Yes, I have been diagnosed with depression. But I’m impressed you noticed, Google. No one else around me did; I was the one to make an appointment with a therapist when I realized something was wrong with me.”

“Do your parents know that you are depressed?”

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Of course; they used to have me see a psychiatrist every week or so.”

Google’s eyes narrowed. What did I say to upset him? “Shouldn’t they have been aware of your symptoms, then? I recognized them easily.”

I rubbed my arms, suddenly feeling chilled. “You only recognized the symptoms after I told you about them, though.”

Google inclined his head in acquiescence. “True. However, even before you told me, I noticed that something was amiss with you.”

“Yes, but in order to know what exactly is wrong with me, you had to take my word for it.”

Google’s mouth became a thin line. “So, your parents do not ‘take your word for it?’”

I shook my head, trying to organize my thoughts into coherency. “I don’t really tell them about my symptoms anymore, unless they ask. I used to, in the beginning, but then my mom told me that I shouldn’t use my depression as an excuse for…other things. So I stopped.”

“What ‘other things’ did she mean?”

I shrugged. “Laziness, procrastination, petulance, irresponsibility—”

“In other words, you are personally accountable for an illness that is out of your control?”

I shook my head, agitated that I had misrepresented it to him. “No, but I do have control over my behavior. She just said that I shouldn’t create a self-fulfilling prophecy by expecting symptoms and therefore…imagining them. ‘Imagining’ isn’t the right word, but she only meant I should fight to get better. My psychiatrist suggested it, too; it’s called behavioral activation, and it’s a real thing.”

Google nodded thoughtfully. “Human, when you experience the common cold, do you ‘fight’ that sickness as well?”

I hesitated, not sure where he was going with this line of questioning. “Um, I try to take care of myself, staying hydrated and whatnot. Sleeping. Why?”

He ignored my question. “You do not believe having a cold is your fault?”

I looked down. “Uh, well, there are ways to cut down on the chances of getting sick—”

“But it is not your fault that the common cold exists, correct?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Then why do you believe that being depressed is your fault?”

I rubbed the back of neck, uncomfortable. “I could do more. If I did what my psychiatrist told me to do, I’d get better faster, or even at all.”

Google looked lost in thought. “Besides what you have already told me, has your psychiatrist mentioned any other symptoms you may have?”

I looked down at my hands, using my fingers to think about the question. “Uh, we’ve talked about feeling empty, feeling guilty and worthless, loss of interest in hobbies, difficulty concentrating and making decisions, decreased energy and fatigue, low appetite, thoughts of death…Also, generally negative thoughts about myself. Low motivation.”

Google’s jaw clenched. “More than one of those symptoms sound like they’d interfere with doing the things you believe would cure you, human. Especially a lack of motivation.”

“Well, that’s a symptom I told her about, not the other way around. And maybe if I just tried harder, I could overcome it. It’s all in my head, y’know? I’m supposed to have control over what goes on in my head!” I didn’t realize my voice was raised until I ended on a near-shout.

Google frowned in confusion. “Of course it’s all in your head; that’s why it’s called a mental illness.”

I barked out a laugh, then sobered. “Google, if you wanted a run-down of my state of mind, you could’ve asked Mark. I told him everything before I agreed to move in with him. I didn’t realize at the time that he wasn’t the only one living here, so I haven’t gotten around to telling the others. I apologize. I hope I have answered all of your questions satisfactorily. If you think y’all would be better off without me, I can be ready to leave tomorrow.”

I moved to get up from my seat, but stopped when Google held up a hand, palm out. “Why do you think I wish you gone? Why do you think the things you have told me would do that?”

I sighed, unhappy with needing to spell it out. “Look, my parents love me. But even they couldn’t handle me forever. They tried for as long as they were able, but I asked too much of them. I’m not who I used to be, and they miss that girl. That girl who was more or less happy and healthy and normal. Now I’m not. I used to be hard-working, driven, relatively productive. And now…now I struggle with basic tasks, like brushing my fucking teeth. We all remember her, and I wish I could give her back, but I can’t. They had the daughter they wanted, and then I took her away from them. I didn’t mean to, but that doesn’t matter. It only matters that I’m not her anymore. I’m just a shadow of who I used to be, and it was cruel to expect my parents to just accept—”

“To accept their child? To recognize that they are hurting?” For the first time since our conversation started, Google began to glitch, though his voice remained steady.

“They don’t know the extent, though, because I don’t tell them. And I may be hurting, but it’s not just about me, it affects them, too.”

“The reason you don’t tell them is because they haven’t made themselves available to you! Why would you tell people who make it clear they don’t want to hear what you have to say? And damn right this is about you! You are the one who has to live with depression, every day, and around people who do not support you! Did one or both of your parents tell you that your depression isn’t about you?”

I looked down, unwilling to answer. Google read between the lines. “They were _wrong_.”

I pulled on my hair, trying to ground myself amidst so much excitement. “They just want me to get better.”

“Presenting your illness as an inconvenience to them is _not_ the correct way to convey that. I’m not human, and _I_ recognize how selfish that is.”

I tried again. “No one likes watching someone close to them suffer.”

“Yes, but making you feel guilty for your own pain is not productive.”

“They don’t make me feel anything: I do that to myself. I have to take responsibility for my own emotions.”

“Do they do the same?”

My throat was thick from the tears that refused to fall, to give me any relief. “They…they say they love me.”

Google’s eyes softened at my plea, but his tone remained firm. “How do you know someone loves you? From the way they treat you? What does the way your parents treat you tell you?”

My voice was a whisper. “They don’t know any better. I’ve tried to tell them…but I’m not good at it. They don’t understand.”

Google shook his head slowly. “I always wondered how you accepted the existence of Marks ‘egos’ so quickly. I think I’m beginning to see.”

“I don’t believe in loving part of someone. If you love someone, I think you have to accept all of them. And since I love Mark, and you all are a part of him, sort of…it was easy, really.” I knew my words were becoming less coherent, but Google seemed to get my meaning.

“Do your parents love all of you?”

I finally crumbled, weak in the face of the realization. “No. They don’t. I told them what I was, I showed them the parts of me the world doesn’t always see…and they rejected it. Rejected me. Being who I am around them…makes them uncomfortable. But I don’t know how to stop.”

Google put a hand on my shoulder. “I hope you never stop being who you are.”

I grabbed onto his arm like a lifeline. “They didn’t believe me, Google. When I told them what I am. They don’t trust me to know myself. If my family won’t accept me, how can I expect anyone else to? What must be wrong with me?”

Google put his other hand on mine, holding me to him. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.”

I hung my head in defeat. “How can I expect Mark to forgive my flaws when no one else has?”

“What you have told me are not flaws. You are strong for experiencing the shit you have, for continuing to see the good in others when you obviously see so little in yourself. And I promise you, there will be people who will not _forgive_ you for being who you are, but who will _love_ you for it. They will like you, respect you, value you, because despite the world telling you to stop, you remain true to yourself.”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know how else to be. It hurts.”

Google sighed. “I know. But the relationships you form will be that much stronger. People will see your honesty, and they will know they can be themselves with you, too.”

“When? When will I find them? I feel so alone, Google. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

In the most surprising turn of events, Google pulled me into his chest, hugging me tightly. “Now. They’re here now. We, everyone who lives here, is here for you. You’re so kind to us, let us repay the favor.”

I shook my head as well I as could. “You don’t have to, Google. You’re under no obligation. I don’t treat you the way I do so that I’ll get something in return. I do it because I care about you, and I want you to be happy.”

“The same applies to you. You deserve all the love and kindness you give to the rest of the world, my friend. And I’ll do my best to show you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be the last fic in the series, but that may change. I just don't feel familiar enough with any of Mark's other personas to write them.
> 
> I thought I'd have more time to write during the summer. However, my mom says I should cut down on internet time, and I don't have the energy to oppose her. I'm sorry. I will try to continue to post when I can, but I will probably be doing shorter fics rather than ongoing fics like New Student at Ouran, A Kiss from Judy, Honesty Panel, Josh Brings a Friend, etc. For those types, I need unlimited time to sit and stare at a blank word doc, so I can reread what I've already posted and type and delete and edit and I don't think I'll have time for that. If I get inspiration, I'll try to jump on it, but one-shots are easier for me to write on short notice. I get hit with an idea, and I run with it as soon as I have an opportunity with my laptop. Thank you to all my readers, followers, subscribers, and supporters for staying with me. I hope I'll get more time to write and post than I foresee, but I'm not optimistic. I don't have the strength to disobey my mom right now, especially because I'm staying at my parents' house for the summer. I'll be writing again in September if not sooner, unless something big comes up.  
> I'm not in a good place right now, especially because I have less opportunity to write (which is how I cope), but this isn't the end. I may take longer to reply to comments, but I'll check ao3 when I can. There is more to come, I just may be on a sporadic hiatus for the summer.
> 
> Thanks again for all the support!  
> Love,  
> aprofessorbhaer


End file.
